To Have and to Hold
by ThatRosieSparkle
Summary: Renji loves Byakuya with all his heart, but is he in too deep? Cue Ichigo, and his loveliness. WARNING: contains reference to abuse. Renji/Byakuya, Renji/Ichigo


**A/N: Well fuck me with a frying pan, I have written a long fic. Epic, one may say. Taken me forever, but boy have I had fun with it.**

**Can we please assume that Soul Society has clubs and bars, and that paracetamol and plasters and jeans exist? For my sake. And also, I will say now that Ichigo is eighteen/nineteen in this particular instance and therefore can be rightfully referred to as a teen but is able to live on his own.**

**Enjoy!**

To Have and to Hold

Red hair hung in a fiery curtain, silver moonlight streaking through the spaces between strands and onto Renji's tanned face in slits. Strong, slender hands fingered the neck of a bottle as he stared into the darkness that leaked over Soul Society, punctuated by glittering diamonds of stars. Muscular arms were wrapped tight around clothed knees, bronzed and bared skin bristling as the cold night air slid like a knife over his tattooed chest and back. Shoulder blades jutted out above a sculpted spine, ribs faintly silhouetted underneath rippling flesh.

"Ren?"

The crimson haired shinigami slowly turned his drooping head towards the door where Byakuya stood, arms crossed, mouth twitching into a smirk. "Come back to bed, it's freezing."

Renji lowered his gaze to stare morosely into the bottle he had been idly playing with. "I'll be there in a minute," he murmured.

"What?" The captain's tone was icy and impatient. Cherry coloured eyes lifted and were held captive by the piercing glare Byakuya was shooting at the man on the windowsill.

His grip on his knees slackened in defeat and Renji crumbled into submission, overpowered by his partner's quiet demeanour and unquestionable authority. "Nothing," he said louder, turning his body reluctantly away from the freedom the night presented, "I'm just coming."

Byakuya smiled a cruel, possessive, twisted smirk of a smile as Renji brushed past him in the doorway on his way back to the bedroom, studying the vice-captain with relish while he slid off his hakama. _Good boy,_ he thought, slipping onto the futon and dipping his head low to press a kiss into the crook of Renji's neck, hands winding around the slim waist and pulling the slightly taller man closer. Byakuya slid his leg in between Renji's now naked thighs, forcing him to relax, kissing him heatedly, _good boy._

-- est continué --

Ichigo rubbed his neck, dark brown eyes glaring through vibrant orange hair at his grinning sparring partner. _Bloody Zaraki,_ he cursed inwardly, pushing himself to his feet shakily as the captain of the 11th squad examined his Zanpaktou with disinterest, black spikes of hair jutting from his scarred face like barbs on wire.

"Calling it a day, Kurosaki?" asked the abnormally large shinigami, his smirk leaking into his tone of voice, smugness and amusement barely contained.

The teen scowled and restored Zangetsu to his back with an irritated flourish. "Only because I have to be somewhere," he growled, causing Zaraki to bark out a laugh, bells jingling wildly as he sheathed his jagged blade and turned to leave.

"See you next week, Kurosaki," he called over his shoulder as he strutted away from where the two had been training, Yachiru latching herself onto his shoulder and resuming babbling in his ear.

Ichigo slumped against a nearby tree, titling back his head to rest against the smooth trunk, eyes half closed as he regained his breath, before heading home for a shower, then lunch with Rukia.

As his breathing slowed and the aching in his muscles subsided, he looked absent-mindedly around, gazing at the white-washed buildings and lush green grass that surrounded him. A movement to his left caught his eye and he turned his head curiously towards the two figures that seemed to be arguing against a wall.

He was surprised to see Byakuya, an infamously calm and unreadable figure in Soul Society, leaning dominantly over another man; expression contorted in rage, arms placed either side of the red-haired face that was glaring defiantly into his wild, furious eyes.

Renji wasn't saying anything in response to the torrent of abuse that was flowing so readily from his captain's mouth, and Ichigo wondered what had happened to the shinigami's usually quick temper and sharp tongue.

As Byakuya's tirade came to a grinding halt, Renji's forceful, cherry coloured eyes looked briefly past his captain's shoulder and fixated upon a flustered Ichigo. His pupils were wide with sadness, irises shining with pain, lids lowered in defeat, inked eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Ichigo received the look with shock and confusion, holding it for what seemed like a lifetime, trying desperately to answer this silent plea for release with his own deep, chocolate gaze.

After the hopeless exchange, Renji lowered his eyes again in wordless submission and Byakuya brought a cold, white hand to his cheek, tracing his definite jaw-line with a pale thumb. The captain leant his head to one side and moved closer to his lieutenant. Renji visibly stiffened, eyes hardening at the gesture, but Byakuya simply slipped his other hand neatly around Renji's waist and roughly pulled him closer, pressing their mouths together and biting hungrily at the crimson-haired shinigami's bottom lip, causing Renji to wilt and grant his captain full access to his body once more.

Ichigo quickly averted his eyes, embarrassed, intently studying his knuckles so as to avoid looking at the couple to his left. He chewed anxiously at his lip, attempting to process everything that had just happened. Byakuya and Renji were… together. More to the point, Byakuya was fucking his vice-captain, and Ichigo wondered whether this was completely orthodox. Did anyone know? He certainly hadn't caught on until just now, but that could just be because Ichigo was probably the most people-dense person in Soul Society.

As his mind wandered, a flash of ruby eyes brought him back to earth with a bump. What had happened to Renji? The shinigami Ichigo knew was strong, cocky, stubborn, rash and charming as hell. Yet when he'd looked into those desperate, empty eyes, any trace of Renji's usual spark had been completely doused in misery and regret.

"Shit," Ichigo cursed suddenly, jumping to his feet, "I'm going to be late." He dared a glance to where Byakuya and Renji were, only to see that the two had vanished. _They're probably -,_ Ichigo let that thought drop, fast, and instead focused on getting home in time. "Rukia's going to kill me."

-- est continué --

Renji gingerly prodded the deep, purple bruise on his shoulder, hissing in pain when his fingers made contact with the tender skin. It was a new kind of hurt: dull, throbbing, constant. He was used to the fiery sting of slashes and cuts caused by swords and knives, but he'd never really been hit before. Not like that.

"_Where are you going?" Byakuya asked playfully, catching Renji around the middle with one arm and reaching up to play with his vivid red hair with the other._

"_Home, baka," laughed Renji, manoeuvring himself out of his captain's hold and making towards the door._

_Byakuya moved so that he was blocking the corridor, a grin dancing across his handsome features. "No you're not."_

"_Yes, I am," Renji said firmly, leaning in to kiss the slightly shorter man tenderly, lips lingering in apology, "I have work to do. I need to go." He reached for the door handle, only to have his wrist grasped securely by thin, white fingers._

_Renji frowned, "Let go, Byakuya."_

_The captain merely twisted his grip tighter, jerking Renji's hand away from the door and letting a cruel smile play on his lips. "You're not leaving," he spat, "until I say so."_

_Glancing incredulously at his trapped arm, and then at the dark haired man before him, Renji opened his mouth to protest, "I -"_

_Before he could say another word, he was slammed against the doorframe to the bedroom, pain jolting down his left arm and making him fall to the floor, Byakuya still tightly gripping his other wrist._

_He blinked in confusion and started to push himself back up, but was stopped by Byakuya pressing down upon him, grabbing his free hand and pinning him to the floor. "You are not leaving until I say so," he snarled again, capturing Renji's mouth in a rough kiss; biting at his lips and clutching at his wrists._

_He pulled at Renji's forearms, twisting them above his head so that he was facing the doorframe against which he had fallen. Renji struggled, shoulder blades and muscles rippling underneath bronzed skin and black tattoos as Byakuya ripped off his clothes with one hand, keeping Renji in place with the other. He attacked Renji's neck with savage kisses, biting and sucking, free hand moving downwards._

_Renji cried out in pain and writhed beneath his captain in response to a jerk on his tangled arms. He was hushed by Byakuya, who was in the process of removing their hakamas._

"_You know what I want," he whispered into red hair, crushing his body onto Renji's, grinding them together, "and you're not leaving until I get it."_

-- est continué --

"Mind if I join you?"

Renji looked up from his sake into the face of Kurosaki Ichigo. "Sure, go ahead," he said, gesturing to the seat beside him and attracting the bartender's attention.

"Same, thanks," ordered Ichigo, tilting his head towards the vice-captain, and was presented with a glass of the clear drink.

"How ya been?" asked Renji, twirling his still full glass on the counter.

"Fine, fine," Ichigo responded, running a hand through his messy orange hair, "You?"

"Good, yeah," replied the red-head. Ichigo eyed him quizzically.

"That'll be why you're moping around in a bar on your own, then," the younger man stated, not taking his dark, hazelnut eyes off of his companion. His brow was knotted into a slight frown, and there was something about the rigidity with which he was sitting that screamed he was desperate to say something.

Renji snorted, "Somethin' like that."

Ichigo fidgeted, opening his mouth slightly as if to press the issue, but was curt short by Renji cheerfully changing the topic. "Heard ya started training with Zaraki," he grinned, cherry eyes sparkling, "How's that goin'?"

Ichigo scowled at his clearly amused friend, "Fine, thank you." Renji laughed and quirked an eyebrow at the orange-haired man. Choosing to try and catch the vice-captain off-guard, Ichigo said nonchalantly, "How about you and Byakuya?"

The red-head's face immediately fell, joviality of seconds before wiped away, masked by a bored, emotionless expression. "Whaddya mean?" he asked coolly, not looking at his friend.

"I saw you together the other day," explained Ichigo, somewhat awkwardly, "down by the training ground."

Renji carried on staring into his glass, "What of it?"

Rolling his eyes through exasperation and nervousness, Ichigo persisted, "You were arguing…" Gaining no response from Renji, he elaborated, beginning to blush, "and then, well, you… weren't."

Renji said nothing.

"Hey," snapped Ichigo, grabbing Renji's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention, eliciting a growl of pain from the red-head. Ichigo quickly let go, looking curiously at his friend. "When did you get hurt?" he probed, worry creeping into his tone despite knowing full well that Renji was perfectly capable of looking after himself.

"I didn't," Renji tried, finally looking into the furrowed chocolate gaze that had been boring a hole into the side of his head, "it's nothing. Just a bruise."

Ichigo's frown deepened, if possible, "Have you told Byakuya?"

Renji stiffened ever so slightly, and a look of fear skittered across his features quicker than a striking blade. Ichigo's eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"Why would I? It's just a bruise, Ichigo. I walked into a fucking doorframe."

Garnet eyes lowered, wandering back to gaze idly into the glass of sake still left undrunk on the bar and an uneasy silence settled itself between the pair.

Ichigo cleared his throat awkwardly, and said quietly, "Did Byakuya -"

"No," Renji cut in, a little too fiercely.

"Let me see," demanded Ichigo, making to pull back the black cloth at Renji's neckline.

"No!" Renji recoiled indignantly, glaring at Ichigo as if he were half-mad. "What the hell do ya think you're doing? It is a stupid, nothing bruise. I'll show ya if you're that desperate, just don't go stripping my clothes off in public."

He reached up and stretched the neck of his kimono so as to expose the offending purple shoulder.

"Sheesh," whistled Ichigo, "that's one helluva bruise."

"Whatever," muttered Renji, bringing his hand back down to grasp his glass of sake, only it never got that far, instead being caught delicately in Ichigo's own, gentle clutches, a far cry from the vice-like grip that had left angry red marks on his wrists for days afterwards.

"What the hell?" murmured Ichigo, bringing Renji's palm closer to his face, staring in fascination at the intricate lattice of scars that spread from the base of his thumb to his fingers, some tracks of pale skin reaching up each digit like tendrils of frost up a window pane.

Renji laughed bitterly. "That was me," he admitted, allowing Ichigo to keep his hand for further inspection.

"Huh?" Ichigo looked incredulously at him.

"Or ta be more precise: a vodka bottle."

Ichigo gawked.

"An' don't bother asking how it happened, 'cause I ain't tellin' ya. It'd take too damn long."

Ichigo remained in stunned silence.

"Can I have my hand back now?" Renji quipped, annoyed.

"Yeah…" murmured Ichigo, deep brown eyes still fixed on Renji, concern etching itself into his frown.

Renji bristled under Ichigo's intense stare. "I don't need your pity," he said waspishly, "an' stop fucking frowning at me. Don't ya ever smile?" It was Ichigo's turn to refuse answers, and Renji tugged nervously at his crimson ponytail. "Whaddya want, Ichigo? Ya come in here, demanding I take my clothes off, acting like some fucking mother-hen, what the hell for?"

Brown eyes widened and Ichigo began to chew at his lower lip. "I thought… When you looked -"

Renji stood up violently, pushing back his stool so that it scraped loudly on the tiled floor, wobbling precariously as it came to a halt. "Fucking drop it, Ichigo," he hissed, leaving his sake untouched beside his bewildered friend and pushing his way out into the cool evening, pressing his hands to his face and sucking in the fresh air gratefully.

As the panic subsided, the clamouring intensity of the claustrophobic bar and Ichigo's probing questions fading away, Renji opened his eyes.

A sickening knot began to tie itself in the pit of his stomach when he saw the familiar figure of Byakuya standing at the end of the street.

At that moment, a flustered looking Ichigo stuck his head out of the door of the bar, "Renji, wait, I didn't mean to…" He trailed off upon seeing the Kuchiki brother.

"Vice-captain, a word."

Byakuya's tone dripped with danger, calmness laced with poisonous envy, and he turned away, haori flaring, motioning with a flick of his wrist for Renji to follow.

And, like a dog, he did.

-- est continué --

Renji's work-surfaces were marble: cold and unyielding.

One of Renji's legs was wrapped tightly around Byakuya's waist, the other jack-knifed against his chest. His right hand clutched and scrabbled at the smooth stone above his head while his left was working himself furiously. Byakuya was bent low over his vice-captain. One arm held Renji's leg firmly in place against the bronzed and inked skin, the other was snaked between Renji and the polished surface, gripping hand on the bruised shoulder, pushing his lover into his thrusts.

Black hair hung fine and dark, covering Byakuya's face and melding with the marble. Crimson locks fanned like a flaming halo around Renji's head.

Moans and gasps were coming from the pair, hips pounding, backs arching. Renji bucked into his hand and Byakuya was jolted deep inside him, groaning and lifting his head to capture Renji's lips in a ferocious kiss.

The red-head writhed and twisted and squirmed in ecstasy. His breathing was shallow and irregular, words tumbling from his mouth in a choked, lust-filled whisper. "I… love… you."

Byakuya buried himself thoroughly, nuzzling into Renji's neck, biting and sucking at the skin as he spilled into his lover. The hand on Renji's shoulder slid down and began pumping him mercilessly, allowing Renji's to pull away and knot itself in Byakuya's soft hair. He yanked the captain's head up and crashed their lips together as he came gushing onto their chests.

They were a mess of skin, sweat, hair and legs, glued to the countertop through sheer exhaustion.

Byakuya released his grip on Renji's thigh and brought a slightly trembling hand up to cup the red-head's blissful face. "You know I love you too, Renji," he breathed, bringing their mouths together once more, "You know I do."

-- est continué --

Ichigo lay on his bed in the crisp darkness, staring intently at the ceiling.

He was thinking.

Thinking about Renji.

The red-head had been acting perfectly normally around him, yet when Byakuya was so much as even mentioned, the vice-captain would seize up. His garnet eyes would lower, broad shoulders stiffening.

And the bruise. Ichigo was probably reading too much into things, but he wouldn't be at all surprised if it was the Kuchiki noble that had caused it.

He absent-mindedly brought his palm in front of his face, eyes tracing the imaginary lines of countless scars, criss-crossing their way from fingers to thumb; a white web of forgotten pain.

Renji wasn't some cowering wreck of a person: he was perfectly capable of killing anyone that tried to take advantage of him. If he wanted to, of course.

In the quiet, moonlit room, Ichigo scratched idly at his neck. Why was Renji allowing Byakuya to have such a complete, terrifying hold over him?

The orange-haired youth shifted in his bed, toes curling around crumples in the sheets and kneading the mattress beneath. He remembered so clearly the way Renji had looked at him across the training ground, begging him silently for help. Help that, when Ichigo had tried to give it, had been violently rejected, thrown back in his face as if it were insulting.

He flung himself around and buried his face in his pillow, fist smashing against the headboard in frustration. He wanted to help. He wanted to save Renji from whatever it was that seemed to be killing him slowly, eating him away from the inside out.

The only problem was, Renji didn't seem to want to be saved.

-- est continué --

"Happy birthday, Rukia!"

The group of shinigami collectively raised their glasses or bottles towards the blushing Kuchiki and took a drink of their chosen poison.

Smacking his lips, Ikkaku asked, "Where's Byakuya? Is he so important he can't even make it to his little sister's birthday?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ichigo caught sight of Renji's face tightening slightly upon hearing his partner's name, before relaxing again in an instant to a perfect imitation of calm. Oblivious, Rukia replied, "Away in the real world on reconnaissance."

Ikkaku snorted and turned to the short, silver-haired man next to him. "Do captains not do any fighting nowadays?" he teased, but Hitsugaya merely rolled his eyes and reached for his drink.

From this, the conversation slipped into a heated, alcohol-fuelled debate about the injustices suffered by subordinates.

"The paperwork!" cried Yumichika indignantly, pointing wildly in the air and flicking his perfectly straight, midnight hair out of his face, "Don't get me started on the paperwork!"

As the night wore on, the group ended up stumbling into a club. Lights flashed and music blared, rendering the less sober members temporarily blinded and deafened, tripping over each other and laughing merrily. Rukia waved a slight arm above her head, beckoning her motley crew to follow her towards a collection of sofas by the bar.

"Drinks!" she proclaimed when everyone had found themselves a place to slump and continue the aimless chatter. Orders were shouted or mumbled, depending on how much alcohol each had already consumed, and Rukia weaved off through the throngs of people, muttering to herself and dancing along to the loud music.

Ichigo rested his head on the person next to him, mumbling happily, "You have a comfy shoulder."

"An' you have tickly hair," protested Renji, attempting to push his very drunk friend away.

Blinking confusedly, Ichigo sat up and tried to focus clearly on the vice-captain's face. Failing, he questioned suspiciously, "I thought you weren't talking to me."

Renji looked appalled. "'Course I am." He furrowed his brow, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Gladly accepting the bottle of beer thrust at him by Rukia, Ichigo turned, swaying slightly, back to Renji, who too had acquired another drink. He wrinkled his nose in concentration. "Can't 'member," he muttered finally.

"There ya go," said Renji reassuringly, leaning forward to clap Ichigo on the shoulder, "we're friends, see?"

Ichigo pulled away sharply, brow creased and furrowed as his fuzzy mind grappled with vague memories and concerns. "But -" he began as Renji took a swig from the electric blue bottle he was holding, "But, you shouted at me."

The red-head nodded sombrely, not saying anything, and Ichigo tried desperately to remember what it was that was bothering him, nagging at the back of his mind, taunting him.

They sat in relative quiet, listening to the throbbing music and inane banter of their friends.

Midway through a gulp of beer, Ichigo began spluttering and coughing, eyes wide in excitement, free hand waving wildly in Renji's direction. Renji looked at him in confusion, wondering if he was choking.

"Byakuya!" Ichigo exclaimed triumphantly.

"What about him?" asked Renji, defensiveness creeping into his tone.

Ichigo leant forward conspiratorially and whispered to the vice-captain, "You and him are…" Unable to think of a suitable word, he mimed with his hands.

Renji finished the sentence with a flourish, "…fucking?"

Nodding wisely, Ichigo slurred, "Yes! But you're not very happy." He poked Renji in the chest to emphasize his point.

"Who says?" asked Renji indignantly.

Ichigo looked up into his friend's face sadly, brown eyes shining with concern, "You did."

Renji frowned, "When?"

Ichigo tapped his nose with his finger, leaning back so as to see Renji in his entirety. The crimson-haired shinigami looked vulnerable, stripped of his brash defences by slightly too much alcohol. Ichigo reached out a hand and turned Renji's face to look at him. "You did," he insisted, "with your eyes. You said with your eyes."

Making no effort to remove Ichigo's fingers from his cheek, Renji's frown deepened. "But I love Byakuya."

His extended arm drew back as if it had been burnt and Ichigo looked away. "Oh," he mumbled, not sounding entirely convinced.

Renji protested, "He loves me. I know. He loves me and I love him."

Ichigo looked at his friend and gestured vaguely at his shoulder, "Well why did that… happen?" he asked.

Renji's ruby eyes fixed themselves onto Ichigo's own, chocolate gaze, flashing fiercely in the lights. "Because he loves me," he explained quietly.

Opening his mouth to object, Ichigo was interrupted by Rukia calling over to them, "Oi! We're going!"

Renji turned, confused, and shouted back, "But we only just got here."

Rukia rolled her eyes and pointed at the blonde-haired, big-breasted woman behind her, "She says she knows somewhere better. Apparently there are podiums." Ikkaku whooped in the background. "You coming?"

A questioning look at Ichigo was answered with a shrug, and so Renji yelled, "Yeah!" Rukia grinned.

When they were outside, Matsumoto made to walk away down the street, inebriated friends in tow, but Ichigo started groaning. Renji spun around to see what was wrong and was greeted by the sight of the orange-haired shinigami leaning forward with his hands planted on the wall, white as a sheet and shaking. He sighed and muttered to the group, "Idiot can't hold his drink," and went to help the teen. "You go. I'll take him home," he called over his shoulder.

"Your loss!" replied Rukia, shimmying by way of showing him what he was missing as the group began to walk away.

Renji waved a hand in their direction as he reached Ichigo. "You alright?" he asked.

"Think I'm gonna hurl," came the weak reply, and Renji chuckled. "Don't laugh at me!" Ichigo scolded, still staring determinedly at the ground.

"Why not?" enquired Renji, "You can't even handle a little bit of drinking an' yet you're supposed ta be captain level?"

Ichigo scoffed and dared a withering look at his friend, "What has my ability to drink alcohol got to do with how well I fight?"

"Dunno," shrugged Renji, scuffing his feet, "Just figures, I guess." He shivered as a cold night breeze whistled down the street and looked at Ichigo, studying his taught arms, muscular back, vivid orange hair and full, slightly parted lips. He felt bad for having yelled at his friend, but it had been the only way to stop him asking such intrusive questions, stop him finding out, although it was pretty obvious he'd already guessed for himself.

Spotting an improvement in the colour of Ichigo's cheeks, Renji ventured, "Ya think ya can walk?"

Ichigo glared at the vice-captain from underneath his orange hair, "Yeah, thanks." He stood up, removing his hands from the wall, and turned to face Renji.

The effects of the alcohol were beginning to fade away, and Ichigo took in Renji's anxious body language: his hands were stuck in his pockets, arms straight; his shoulders were back, muscles defined; his jaw was set, a sharp edge of strong bone jutting out above his tattooed neck. He was tensed and rigid, ready to snap. So very close to breaking, yet still managing to hold himself together, somehow.

"Renji,"

Ichigo wanted to say something comforting, something that could put his friend at ease, but the words died on his lips. He looked helplessly at the red-head, at a loss for what he could do.

The vice-captain shot Ichigo a quizzical look when he began to walk across the street towards him. He looked down in surprise as Ichigo gently took hold of his scarred hand, tracing spindly white lines with feather-light strokes of his fingers.

They were centimetres apart, and Renji could only see the top of Ichigo's head, bright orange tufts of hair almost tickling his nose.

Ichigo lifted his gaze so as to stare deep into Renji's cherry coloured eyes, lifting one hand up to catch his face whilst keeping the other wrapped firmly around Renji's own.

Suddenly, Renji darted forward, smashing their lips together and shattering the serenity of only moments before. His hand roughly found its way into Ichigo's hair where it wound itself deep into the silky locks. As he slid his tongue along Ichigo's bottom lip, the teen moaned and granted him access.

They stumbled backwards against the wall, kissing savagely. Ichigo's fingers slid up Renji's shirt, clawing at the tattoos on his back, and Renji growled: a feral, animalistic noise of pure, unadulterated lust. He pressed Ichigo against the cold stone, feeling his quickening heartbeat as it hammered in time with his own.

One of Ichigo's rampant hands found Renji's left shoulder and gripped it tightly, sending a jolt of pain and realisation shuddering through the red-head. He pulled away quickly, eyes wide with horror. "I shouldn't have done that," he whispered fearfully. He took a step back, shaking: partly through adrenaline, partly through cold, "I should not have done that."

Ichigo ran a strong hand through his already ruffled hair, inwardly kicking himself.

"Go home," Renji ordered sharply, catching Ichigo off-guard, "you look terrible." Crimson spikes of hair caught the moonlight like blood-stained blades as the vice-captain resolutely walked away.

Ichigo collapsed against the wall. "Shit."

-- est continué --

"Welcome back," grinned Renji, arms slung around his captain's neck, tattooed forehead resting lightly against Byakuya's.

He kissed the slightly shorter man gently, leaning back again to push a thick strand of dark hair out of his serene face. Byakuya returned the contact with a brush of his thumb, running the length of the red-head's jaw-line, and tilted his head so as to capture his vice-captain's full lips as his own.

The noble let a small moan escape into the kiss, and Renji growled in response, pushing his tongue deeper and tightening his grip on Byakuya's neck, one hand inching upwards to finger the inky black strands of hair that brushed coolly against burning skin.

Only bearing to break the kiss for mere seconds at a time, Renji breathed, "Bed… Now," punctuating the two words with a nibble at Byakuya's lip. They tripped into the bedroom, shedding clothing, tangled in cotton and limbs, eventually falling onto the futon.

Renji was straddling his captain, administering hot pressure from his swollen lips to every inch of alabaster skin he could find. He ran his tongue over Byakuya's navel and felt the thin fingers wound in his crimson locks tense and relax with the gentle buck of the noble's hips. He grinned again, eyeing the dark haired man through swathes of red that partially obscured his view and tapped sharply on each of his captain's thighs. "Spread 'em," he hissed.

Byakuya, however, simply shook his head, closing his eyes in pleasure as Renji's thumb idly stroked tantalisingly close to his groin.

Before Renji's confusion had time to sink in, he was on his back, Byakuya's pale face above his own, snatching forward to attack the red-head's earlobe. Trying to stop himself melting into the sheets, Renji mumbled, "Again?"

The captain nodded, humming the affirmative and sending deep vibrations from Renji's throat straight to his throbbing erection. He pushed away the lusty haze threatening to engulf him completely and moaned into his lover's hair, "Not fair, S'my -" He choked, breathing becoming ragged as Byakuya sucked hard at his collarbone, "My turn."

Taking no notice of his vice-captain's protests, Byakuya began to slide a finger into his lover, keeping his mouth firmly latched onto Renji's tattooed skin. The red-head shuddered in pleasure, but pushed against the dark haired man's strong hold, standing his ground. He was panting like a dog, "No, Byakuya."

Steely eyes flickered up to glare at the disobedient man trapped beneath the Kuchiki noble. "Oh?" questioned the captain.

Renji brought a hand up to run his fingers through Byakuya's dark hair, murmuring again, "S'my turn," and making to kiss his lover.

Strong, slender fingers shot up and curled themselves around Renji's exposed throat. The red-head's breath hitched and his eyes widened. His arm reflexively moved to release the strangling hold, but the captain's astonishing speed had it pinned, along with his partner, onto the headboard in the blink of an eye.

Renji lay still, breathing shallow and raw, inked chest rising and falling irregularly, a thin sheen of sweat making his skin glisten in the low light. He glared defiantly at his captain, contempt flaring his nostrils slightly, betrayal gleaming in his deep ruby eyes.

Without warning, Byakuya thrust into his vice-captain, smirking maliciously at the choked cry of pain it elicited. Renji's eyes were clamped shut and his tanned fingers clutched at the wood beneath them. Enjoying the intoxicating feeling of power, Byakuya squeezed harder, all but completely cutting off Renji's oxygen supply and turning the usually stubborn man beneath him into putty that was his to play with.

This was going to be fun.

-- est continué --

Ichigo looked nervously at his red-haired companion. "So we, um, you know…"

Renji looked most amused, "Yes, we kissed." Ichigo blushed and Renji couldn't help but laugh. "Christ, Ichigo, anyone would think you'd been fucked through the headboard by a total stranger."

The teen's cheeks flamed the colour of the vice-captain's hair and he muttered mutinously to himself.

"What was that?" asked Renji in a sing-song voice.

Ichigo scowled and sulkily repeated, "I was fucking drunk, okay?"

"I know ya were," chuckled Renji, choosing to omit the part of the story where he stormed off, instead leaving his alcoholically amnesiac friend with a more light-hearted view of the incident. "It was just a kiss, Ichigo. Think nothing of it." His ruby eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, "You might still be straight, if you're really lucky."

Avoiding looking at his friend, who was now crying with laughter upon having seen the look on Ichigo's face caused by the insinuation that he might be gay, Ichigo pulled viciously at the grass he was sitting on.

A kiss might mean nothing to Renji, but Ichigo didn't like to be thought of as a drunken mistake. He, at least, had kissed the vice-captain for a reason.

A voice behind them called out, "Hey, Abarai," and Renji turned around, looking over his shoulder to answer Kenpachi Zaraki, stretching out his tattooed neck in the process.

Ichigo could only stare in horror at the deep purple marks on Renji's pulse points: four on the right side, connected to a larger bruise on the left by an angry friction burn running snugly underneath his jaw.

When Zaraki began walking away again, Renji returned his attention cheerfully to the teen, expression snapping in comprehension when he saw Ichigo's gawking face. "Shit," he muttered, rubbing nervously at the nape of his neck, carefully avoiding the almost violet patches of painful skin.

"You can't say you walked into another doorframe, Renji," breathed Ichigo.

The red-head laughed bitterly, refusing to meet Ichigo's gaze, shame scrawled across his features and painted deep into his cherry coloured eyes.

Ichigo continued in a low voice, "Fuck, Renji, I -" he paused, at a loss, not wanting to scare off the vice-captain. He clasped his hands together, kneading his knuckles. Seeing no way around it, though, he drew in a deep breath and asked gently, "Was it Byakuya?"

Renji's expression darkened and his cheeks flushed slightly. There was a deafeningly silent pause. "Yes," he admitted quietly, defeated, glaring at his feet.

The orange-haired youth closed his eyes, relieved at having got a confession out of his friend, but also worried at what else the captain might have done, be doing, or be planning to do.

His lids flew open, however, when Renji asked expectantly, "So?"

Ichigo looked blankly at him, "So what?"

"So tell me it's going to be okay," said Renji, anxiously, "Tell me it's just a phase. Tell me he loves me and we can get through this." He lifted his eyes to look directly at Ichigo, hope and panic and confusion and fear all swirling in a heady mix in his ruby irises. "Tell me I'll be okay," he pleaded.

Mouth slightly open in a silent, "Oh," Ichigo gazed sadly at his desperate friend, eyeing the almost territorial marks on his throat with fear.

"But then I'd be lying, Renji."

-- est continué --

Dark rain hammered at Ichigo's living room window, drumming and tapping a relentless, unpredictable rhythm on the glass.

He sighed and slunk lower on the couch, one hand cradling a cup of tea while the other held up his book. His ears pricked up at the sound of louder, harder thumping noises, but he put them down to yet another increase in the rain's ferocity.

Turning a page and taking a sip of the scolding hot tea, Ichigo turned his attention back to his book. The banging continued, louder still, now distinctly different from the rat-a-tat-tat of the rain.

Someone was at the door.

"Oops," he muttered to himself, setting down paper and china, standing up quickly and hurrying into the hall. He opened the door to see a very bedraggled Renji standing awkwardly on the doorstep. His crimson hair was sodden, stray strands plastered to his face, mingling with the red tracks of blood that dripped from a cut above his eye. His top lip, too, was split and bleeding, teeth chattering with cold.

"I left," he choked, eyes wide, "I left."

Grabbing the vice-captain forcefully by the collar, Ichigo hurled him inside where he stood, dripping, as he closed the door. "Jesus, Renji, you're a fucking mess," he muttered, "Stay there. Don't go anywhere near my sofa."

Ichigo left the corridor in search of towels and Renji simply stood where he was, blood pooling by the corner of his mouth. He licked it away, the metallic tang making him shudder, and Ichigo returned. "Bathroom's down there," he said, pointing to a door just along the hallway and pressing fluffy white cotton into the red-head's hands, "Shout if you need anything."

Renji nodded numbly and went to get dry, watched as he walked down the corridor by the teen, who was frowning only slightly, a small smile of utter relief tugging at the corners of his tightly drawn lips.

Padding back to the living room, he settled himself back onto the warm leather he'd abandoned and reached once more for his tea, taking book and cup in hand and sighing contentedly. He drank and turned pages, once spilling small splashes of the hot drink onto his top and cursing, until an echoing call from the bathroom caught his attention. "Ichigo?" ventured Renji's voice, "I need clothes."

_He speaks, _thought the orange-haired shinigami, replying out loud, "Oh yeah. Erm, hang on." He wondered if he had anything that would fit the taller man: Renji's shoulders were broader, his chest wider, legs slightly longer. Ichigo fought the urge to leave his friend clothes-less so he could admire his toned, muscular body, instead rifling through chests and wardrobes until he found an acceptable t-shirt that would fit and a pair of jeans that were a size too big for him.

He walked barefoot out of his bedroom and into the hallway, seeing Renji's towel-dried head poking out of the bathroom door. "Here," he said, offering the clothes to the still damp vice-captain.

"Thanks Ichigo," mumbled Renji, taking the bundle of fabric. "For everything," he added, not taking his eyes off of his friend's understanding face.

Ichigo smiled warmly, "No problem," and left Renji to get dressed.

When the red-head finally exited the bathroom and found his way into the lounge, Ichigo had resumed his position on the chocolate brown couch. He pointed to the kitchen, not taking his eyes off of his book, and said, "Made you some tea."

Renji wandered off in search of warmth, found the steaming mug on the kitchen table, and padded back into the living room, curling up on an armchair and staring into his drink, waiting for it to cool.

Setting his book down, Ichigo fixed his friend with an apprehensive look. "You wanna talk about it?"

The vice-captain sucked at his split lip, shaking his head. His eyes narrowed in confusion at the feeling of wet warmth near his tattooed eyebrow and he reached up a hand, poking the cut accidentally and hissing in pain.

"Baka," scolded Ichigo, and he stood up, beckoning Renji to follow him through to the kitchen. Once there, he siphoned through cupboards, trying to find his First Aid kit which was, in reality, just a box filled with plasters, paracetamol and assorted other dressings and drugs that had accumulated from his numerous trips to 4th squad.

Renji leant against the kitchen table, idly pressing at his forehead and scowling in discomfort. As Ichigo resurfaced with a jumble of boxes and bottles, Renji raised an eyebrow at the disarray in which the teen kept something relatively important. _Typical,_ he mused to himself, fingers still probing the gash above his eye.

The orange-haired shinigami slapped Renji's hand away and began cleaning the wound with an antiseptic wipe. "Stings," complained Renji, but Ichigo persisted, whistling in awe when he saw the depth of the cut.

"Impressive, Ren," he muttered, and Renji's eyes darted to look at him quizzically, the easiness with which his pet-name had tripped off of Ichigo's tongue taking him by surprise.

The teen turned away, rummaging through the assorted 'aid' in his 'kit'. He made a small, triumphant noise upon locating the plasters and shook the little box at Renji, who groaned, "Do I have to?"

"'Fraid so," grinned Ichigo, peeling off the backing and sticking the offending item over the cut, biting back a laugh when he took a step back to admire his work. "You look great," he said sincerely.

Renji shot him a withering look, "Ya think?"

Nodding absent-mindedly, Ichigo took his chance to study his friend in detail. Renji's hair had been pulled back hastily into its usual, spiky mess and his tattooed forehead was clearly visible, salmon pink of the plaster clashing horribly with his tanned complexion and breaking the continuous flow of black ink from eyebrow to hairline. His top lip was swollen, now, and the bruises below his jaw were still as vivid as they had been when Ichigo had first spotted them. He looked battered and tired. A pang of sympathy, guilt and protectiveness jolted through the teen when Renji lifted his wounded eyes and looked into Ichigo's chocolaty pools of concern.

"It's rude ta stare," he teased softly, and Ichigo blinked himself back to the here and now, the faintest tint of pink creeping into his cheeks.

In order to turn the attention away from himself, Ichigo pointed to Renji's right hand. "How'd it happen?" he enquired, referring to the scars he found both disturbing and fascinating.

Renji exhaled, studying his palm. "It was last year. Me and Byakuya -" his eyes filled with sadness at the name and Ichigo prodded him with his foot to continue. Taking comfort from the contact, Renji went on, "Me and Byakuya had been fighting. I was pissed, so I got pissed." He smiled awkwardly. "Took a litre of vodka onto the roof and drank myself into oblivion." He looked up at Ichigo, who was staring at him intently, and chuckled. "Slipped and fell, landed on the bottle. Glass everywhere, blood everywhere…" He trailed off, glancing up at Ichigo as if awaiting his approval.

The teen simply shook his head sadly, taking a step forward and brushing his hand against Renji's cheek. He lightly pressed their lips together, still framing Renji's face with his fingers, pulling away and staring deep into the vice-captain's ruby eyes.

"Tea?" he suggested, and the red-head laughed, following Ichigo back to the lounge, feeling safe for the first time in years.

**Excuse me while I die of exhaustion.**

**Review? Please?**

**(Be confused at the hardcore Renji/Byakuya and stupidly tame Renji/Ichigo. Ponder the hidden meanings behind this.)**


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